I do not own House nor will I ever, cause then you'd have to watch a show of old dying Houses writing suicide notes. And that would just suck.
First fanfic, so probably pretty bad . . . so sorry if its a waste of your time, I just had to give it a try after reading so many awesome one's on this sight.
THE LAST MYSTERY
House had never thought of himself as the suicidal type, yet here he was. He wasn't really angry or sad. Just tired. Tired of life. He took out a pen and piece of paper, and almost smirked. He was writing a note to the only people that cared, and yet they couldn't care anymore, they were far past caring. His hand shook as he put pen to paper, he struggled with what to write. His mind was already beginning to haze over from the extreme amounts of vicoden he had consumed. And yet he had to leave this note, it just seemed right. And, whoever found him would not get to wonder why he had done it, it wasn't fair for them to get to solve puzzles once he was gone, no, that was his job. He wrote slowly, not really thinking, knowing that what he wrote probably didn't make much sense . . .
Wilson, Ducklings, Cuddy,
Who would have thought I'd outlive you all? I can't believe it myself and yet the evidence is undeniable. I'm here, dying alone, not one pitying face here to say goodbye.
I came into this world alone and I always knew I would leave it that way too. I guess I was lucky that sometime in between those two I figured out that I didn't have to live my life that way too, so for awhile, when I finally let you guys in, I was happy. But then you all started leaving me one by one, funeral after funeral. And now that everyone's gone there really isn't much left for me to live for. For awhile it was fine, I had my music, my memories and my puzzles. But when my fingers got too stiff to play the piano and my mind too old to recall the memories, the mysteries just stopped being that interesting. So I guess I've decided to say goodbye now, to be done with this life once and for all. Because when the mysteries stop making you curious, you know you don't have much to do besides leave this world as quickly as you can. So I figure there's just one puzzle left for me to solve, one more mystery that's still interesting, one last great adventure. I've tried it before, remeber when I shocked myself? But, I guess what I'm saying, is I sure as hell hope I'm wrong for the first time in my life, that there's some kind of afterlife, and one with a whole lot of vicodin waiting for me . . . . waiting for me at the end of my last unsolved mystery. House
He set down the pen and hobbled slowly over to his sofa. He flipped on one of his favorite soaps, and settled down. One last mystery . . .